


Ocean Breathes Salty

by Arawr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ghost!Dirk, Ghosts, Ghoststuck, M/M, Sadstuck, Somewhat, i'll add more tags as i go along, it will be cute too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arawr/pseuds/Arawr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can have a life after death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Your name is Dirk Strider, and you’ve been living in this house alone for four years. Alone perhaps isn’t the most accurate way of putting it, and neither is living, as you have been dead as long as you’ve been ‘alone’ in this house. You have come to realize during that time that living as a ghost is like living in a vacuum. It is a lonely, stagnant existence, one that you’ve come to accept, albeit reluctantly. The loneliness is the hardest part. Sure, you could make yourself visible to the living if its bite gets too strong, and you do make the occasional appearance, but for the most part, you exist in a state of limbo, ignoring the living as they remain ignorant of you. The only people you really want to talk to are gone, anyway.

                So today comes as a bit of a surprise when there’s a new family moving into your house; out of curiosity you move to the staircase to see who they are. You lean against the railing just in time to see the front door open, revealing your two new housemates. An elderly woman, bespectacled and enthusiastic, leads the way, her arms overflowing with boxes as her bright green eyes scan the foyer from behind the large wire frames of her glasses. Her long grey hair flows freely down her back, some of it falling forward when she bends over to put down the armful of boxes, bringing her hands to rest on her hips as she looks around the room approvingly. A boy, around sixteen, appears in the doorway, his arms just as full with boxes as his presumed grandmother. His eyes, a darker green than his relative’s, slide around the room, taking note of his new home. A shock of dark hair sits atop his head, hopelessly tousled by god knows what, and a smile spreads across his face, revealing a pair of buck teeth and a charming lilt to his voice when he tells his grandmother, “I say, this house is top-notch!”

                His grandmother smiles, glad of his approval.  “I’ll bring in some more boxes if you want to look around, Jake,” she says, moving back toward the door.  He sputters a moment.

                “Unheard of! A feisty youngster such as me should help you out to my fullest potential!” Jake, apparently, announced. He shuffled out past his grandmother, a look of determination on his face. She chuckles, following after her grandson. You scoff at his enthusiasm, pushing away from the railing you’ve been leaning on and heading down the stairs. The pair returns shortly with another load of boxes, continuing the process until their car is empty and the foyer full. As soon as the last box is dropped inside and the front door closed, you watch Jake from your seat on the bottom stair as he catapults himself out of the room, ready to explore the rest of the house. Standing up, you follow after him, curious of his reactions.

                He heads upstairs first, his footsteps dull thuds against the carpet as he stomps his way up and pauses at the landing. Almost directly to his left is— _was_ Dave’s room, you correct yourself. Even after four years, it takes you a moment to remember each time that your brothers no longer live here. You never really knew why; you have some half-baked theories about living memories being more vivid than the memories you’ve made since you died, but you haven’t had the chance to make many memorable memories since you died, so your theory remains unproven. Jake, not having your mental hold ups, pushes open the slightly ajar door and steps into the room.

                Dave’s room had always been the warmest one in the house, sitting in direct view of the afternoon sun. The same crappy, cheap carpet covered the floor of his room, although it looked much bigger now that there wasn’t all of Dave’s furniture and belongings in it. Jake makes a beeline for the window and looks out of it, his fingers resting lightly against the glass. You move to stand next to him, observing the driveway and the neighbor’s house across the street. The sun has just begun to dip below the horizon, its harsh glare restrained from painful levels due to the opaque lenses of your pointy shades. Satisfied with the view, Jake putters about the room, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. You look around the room yourself, standing where Dave’s cinderblock and plywood desk used to sit just beneath the window. Jake stands in what was once Dave’s makeshift dark room for his photography, the thought of it and your brother coming with a now familiar pang of heartache. You ignore it, however, as Jake exits the room, and you follow his lead.

You follow Jake away from Dave’s room, stepping out into the upstairs hallway once more. You pass a bathroom on your right, instead heading straight for Bro’s old room, the master suite.

Pushing back the slightly ajar door, Jake steps into the room with you on his heels. Orange light filters into the room from the open doorway, lighting on the wide stretch of empty space.

“This must be the master bedroom,” Jake states, looking around the empty room. The window in Bro’s room sized larger than the windows in Dave’s or your room, which Bro failed to appreciate by covering with blackout curtains. Without them there, the room seemed too bright and too big. By walking too far into the room, you half expected to trigger some sort of smuppet pile falling from the ceiling or something. However, nothing happened as you walk across the room and turn to face Jake. His eyes rove around the room, nodding approvingly. “Grandma will absotively posilutely love it!” Jake exclaims to himself, eyes bright. You can’t help but to smile a little.

When Bro and Dave first moved out, you spent the majority of your time sitting in either Bro’s or Dave’s room, curled in on yourself in the most pathetic manner imaginable and wishing you had some way to either go after them or end it, just some way to leave this fucking house. Of course, there was nothing. No possible way you could leave the place you had died. Left alone, seemingly forever, with the sharp, gnawing pain of loneliness and heartbreak that only a ghost could truly understand. Sometimes watching the living soothed the wound for a time, other times it doubled it, the harsh reality being that ghosts are forever stuck wandering in the space between material and immaterial. You frown to yourself, wishing once again that dying had come with a book or pamphlet or something that answered your questions instead of the trial and error routine you’d been using. During your musings Jake must have left, and you poke your head into the hallway, catching sight of one dark-skinned ankle as he headed downstairs.

Once again on the ground floor, Jake meanders into the kitchen, a relatively standard sized room. Counters run along the perimeter, and a small wooden table sits in the same spot as the crappy, foldable card table that you used to eat breakfast on. The refrigerator is the same, however, shoved against the wall next to the entryway from the foyer. It’s easy picturing the familiar scene of breakfast in the Strider household: you sitting at the aforementioned crappy card table, a bowl of cereal in front of you, Dave, still half asleep, opening the fridge and barely dodging the shitty weaponry stored there, and Bro, flashstepping into the room to grab a cup of black coffee before flashstepping away again, never spilling a single drop of his caffeinated beverage of choice.

Jake examines the room thoroughly, opening and closing the cupboard doors and even poking his head into the empty pantry. You sat on the far counter, the waning sunlight filtering in through the windows behind you warm on your back as you watched him scour the kitchen, until he decided he was ready to explore the next room. Hopping down from your perch, you follow him down the hall, to the first door on the left: the bathroom.

                It’s fairly small, with a single sink and a dusty medicine cabinet to the right of the tub. You know from experience about the too-short shower head and the way the water starts to clog up in the tub if one is showering for too long. You vaguely wonder if Jake takes long showers like you used to. You’re interrupted from your thoughts when he suddenly runs out of things to look through in the bathroom, stepping past where you’d been leaning against the door jamb and down the hallway, stopping in front of what was your old room.

                You had left the door closed, an old habit that you hadn’t been able to break since you’d died, and Jake barely hesitated before opening the door. The closed shades of the window blocked out most of the fading daylight, but enough residual light made the room bright enough to be seen. The room was originally supposed to be some sort of office or den, but you had converted it into your bedroom when you decided you wanted to stop sharing a room with Dave. Completely empty of furnishings, the only thing Jake really could look through would be the closet positioned against the front right of the room. A sudden bolt of nervousness strikes you. You can’t let him look in your closet. You appear in the doorway just before he reaches for the handle.

                “Hey.”

                Jake starts, surprise engulfing his features at your sudden appearance. The question lights up his face before he can even ask it.

                “Who the dickens are you? How did you get in?” He questions. You try to not to find his strange language patterns endearing. You fail.

                “I’m Dirk Strider. I live in the neighborhood,” you lie easily, shifting your weight to lean against the wall. The familiar feel of the slightly scratchy wallpaper against your arm is nostalgic.

                “Oh, aces, old chap! I’m Jake English. I’m sure we’ll be bosom buddies in no time!” Jake announces, his offered hand reaching out to clasp yours roughly. You oblige, and the feeling of physical contact after so long is pleasant, almost addictive. A small smile lilts along the corner of your mouth. Jake smiles back, and you find yourself basking in the warmth it exudes.

                “So, did you just move in?” you ask the obvious question, feigning ignorance. “Indubitably! My grandmother Jade and I just moved in today, actually! I was just exploring the house. Say, did you know the family that lived here before us?” Jake asks, green eyes wide with curiosity.

                “Not the last family, no. But I knew the family before that one,” you supply, failing to mention that it was your family. “They were good people.”

                Talking about your family brought the gnawing pain that always lingered to the forefront of your thoughts, consuming your attention for a moment. You remember the complete and utter desperation you felt when they moved out, trying to get their attention before they left for good and ever. You screamed, cried, _raged,_ but they noticed nothing, their impassive faces looking somber only to your trained eyes. The decision to move out had been Bro’s; you hadn’t figured out how to appear to the living at that point, merely being able to manage a flickering visage, and Bro, being who he is, believed you were just a figment of his grief stricken mind.  He had told Dave that they needed a fresh start, and so they let you rest the only way a Strider knew how to, short of a strife: by leaving you, or at least the house, alone. They just didn’t realize that you were still there.

Before they left, however, Bro placed your katana on the first step of the staircase, and Dave left a picture he had taken of the three of you together. It wasn’t much, but you had treasured both sword and picture nonetheless, stashing them in your closet. They were your only mementos of the life you once had, and you valued them more highly than anything in existence.

                “-rk, old chap?” Jake asked, breaking you out of your reverie. You blink behind your shades, focusing once again on the present.

                “Yes?” you ask, pretending that you hadn’t just zoned out awhile. Adjusting to being seen meant less time to be lost in thought, and you inwardly kick yourself for slipping into your head instead of staying alert of the living. Jake, in this case. Dammit, he said something.

                “What was that?” you ask hesitantly, and Jake smiles that warm fuzzy smile again. You guiltily enjoy holding his attention.

                “D’you always get so lost in your noggin, Dirk? You should be aware at all times! You never know when adventure will strike!” Jake warns, holding his hands up in the shape of two pistols, aiming them around him in a mock representation of his apparent alertness. You smirk, amused by his antics.

                “I bet I could break your guard,” you challenge, smug.

                “I’d like to see you try, Strider,” Jake responds, leveling you with a smirk as well. You take a moment to size up your opponent, your eyes sliding over his form behind your pointy shades. He stands a few inches shorter than you, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in enthusiasm, his personality making him seem taller than he is. There is muscle beneath the bronze skin, too, and the way he holds himself in a loose, controlled position tells you that he’s no stranger to hand to hand combat. As far as clothing goes, he wears a long-sleeved shirt over a standard t-shirt, a pair of too short shorts and hiking boots. His eyes travel over your frame as well, sizing you up as you do him, and you find yourself relishing his gaze. You snap out of your shameless posturing the moment you notice a slight change in his footing—he’s about to strike. You prepare yourself, not giving away anything on the surface.

                Before either of you can land a hit, however, Jake’s grandma walks down the hallway, stopping at the doorway to your room.

                “Hey, Jake, are you in—oh, who’s this?” she asks, her confused expression nearly identical to the one Jake made earlier.

                “Not to worry, Grandmother Harley! This is my new chum, Dirk. He lives in the neighborhood,” Jake supplies, a bright grin playing across his features. “He showed up rather suddenly, to be honest!”

                “So I see!” Jade agrees, seemingly accepting the story. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dirk.” She offers her hand much like her grandson had, her handshake enthusiastic. “Jake’s always been good at making friends, but I didn’t think he’d be bringing any over until the school year started. Would you care to join us for dinner? It won’t be anything fancy, but it would be rude of me to send you home hungry!” She beams at you, and you swear that all these warm smiles aimed at you today are going to give you sunburn or something.

                _They are incredibly trusting,_ you think to yourself, unused to the blind trust of strangers. Unused to blind trust in general. You figure that you might as well be visible during dinner, the only difference otherwise being that you’d hover around the house and listen in on their conversations. The former option being considerably less creepy, you decide to take it.   

                “I suppose I don’t have anything better I could be doing,” you answer truthfully. Jake smiles at your acceptance of the invitation, grin bright and eyes on you. Your stomach flutters a little, unused to so much attention, especially that of someone your age. Or, at the very least, your age when you died.

 

\--

               

 Dinner, as previously expected, is a simple affair, Grandma Jade having ordered a pizza to be delivered. In the meantime, some of the boxes in the foyer had been moved to different rooms—you volunteered your services to help them at least sort through their belongings. You and Jake currently each have a box opened up, the word ‘kitchen’ written in a dark marker along the side. You sift through various utensils and dinnerware, unwrapping and stacking the plates, bowls, and flatware in neat stacks. Jake’s box consists of small appliances, handled with care so as not to break in Jake’s steady grip and placed on the counter space beneath the windows. It’s full dark now, the front lawn barely visible through the windows in the wan moonlight.

“I hope the pizza man gets here soon. I’m starved!” Jake complains, breaking down the box in his hands and sighing dramatically.

“It’ll be any moment now,” you respond, digging through your box and setting out a stack of cups. You’re still not entirely sure why you agreed to stay for dinner in the first place; you never made an attempt to get to know the family who lived here after your bros moved out. Perhaps it felt too sudden at the time, but now you can’t seem to get enough of human interaction.

The doorbell sounds then, breaking up your thoughts as Grandma Harley shuffled down the stairs to the foyer, wallet in hand. She paid him, and Jake grabbed three plates from the top of the stack you made and placed them on the wooden table.

“Dinner is served,” the elderly woman announces, a smile plastered on her face as she brandishes the pizza box. Jake crows at the promise of a full belly and you smirk at his unbridled enthusiasm. You move to sit at the table, plopping down where you would’ve sat had there been a card table in its place, and Jake sits next to you, eyeing the pizza box greedily. You idly note that this is the first food you’ve eaten in nearly four years; you had tried eating food when you had just become a ghost and had found it essentially the same, if a little weird. You honestly had thought that it wouldn’t work, but apparently ghost bodies could handle food like a living body, and, deciding that there’s no real way that you could figure out _how_ this was possible, left it at that.

“So Dirk,” Grandma Jade begins. “You look to be about Jake’s age! Is it possible that you’re sixteen too?”

_No,_ you want to say, but instead you say, “Yes, I am.”

“Golly, we’ll be schoolmates then, chum!” Jake grins, and you find the pizza sauce along the corners of his mouth surprisingly endearing. You then register what he just said, and grimace inwardly. You hadn’t thought of a good reason why you wouldn’t be in school.

“I’m, uh, homeschooled, actually,” you stammer out uncharacteristically. You are grateful that the first thing to come to mind wasn’t stupid. You can work with the homeschool angle.

Jake’s smile falters, as does his grandmother’s.

“Poppycock, I was looking forward to seeing you at school.” Jake’s frown deepens, and you feel bad for the slice of pizza he’s staring at in disappointment. You mostly feel bad for disappointing Jake, though. It surprises you.

“I’m sure I’ll be around all the time,” you say, trying to ease his concerns. “You’ll probably want to kick me out one day.” The half-joke slips out last minute. If only it would be that easy to leave.

But Jake’s smile returns at your words, and you smile back, albeit on a much smaller scale. Grandma Jade seems pleased by all this too, a smile of her own half-hidden behind a slice of pizza.

The meal carries on in a general pattering of conversation between Jake and Jade, the pair trading amusing stories and interesting anecdotes. Their interactions are incredibly different than the ones you used to have with your brothers. Here and now, sharing genuine, sincere emotion is accepted. Expected, really. Neither Jade nor Jake seems to have anything to hide, and the openness is almost refreshing. Not that you had anything to hide, but you had been trained from a young age not to show emotions beyond ironic reasons, and even then they were kept at a minimum. Dave was the most expressive of the three of you. You hoped he still was somewhere.  

 

\--

 

                After dinner, you are walked to the front door by Jake and Grandma Harley, the pair of them waving you off as you pretend to leave the premises.

                “Don’t be a stranger!” The elderly woman calls out after you.

                “Indeed! I expect to see you around soon, Dirk!” Jake adds, waving enthusiastically.

                “I’ll be around more often than not,” you assure them, more honest than they realize. With a short hand wave, you turn around and walk down the front path, waiting for them to close the door so you can vanish before you are forcibly returned to the house. You hear the click of the front door just as you’re about to hit the sidewalk. Making sure that no one is watching you, you disappear, closing your eyes and focusing your mind on your room. When you open your eyes again, you’re inside the house, the sounds of Jake and Grandma Jade upstairs surprisingly comforting.

                _It’s nice to have some life in the house,_ you decide, smiling to yourself. _Maybe this is a good thing._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to pterodactuality.tumblr.com for beta reading.

It’s been about a week since Jake and his grandmother moved in. You decided to ‘visit’ today after Grandma Harley left for the day, heading off to work as a park ranger. She planted a wet kiss on Jake’s cheek, asking him to finish hanging the pictures and waved goodbye. You transported outside and rang the doorbell for appearances sake, Jake letting you in a few seconds later.

 Pretty much all of their belongings have been sorted, and their furniture is placed through all the rooms. The décor is the last thing to go into place, the majority of it being large pictures of scenic views from around the world, along with a collection of exotic animals. Apparently Grandma Harley had taken the photographs in her younger years when she used to be a globetrotting adventurer, spanning the globe with her rifle, camera, and not much else.

                “I’d like to be an adventurer too!” Jake tells you, his tone enthusiastic as he hooks the last picture up in the upstairs hallway. He straightens it, a smile stretching across his face when he turns to you.  

                “What about you, Dirk? What do you want to be when you grow up?” The question catches you off guard even though it really shouldn’t.

                “I haven’t really thought about it,” you respond, shoving your hands into your pockets. Jake gives you a look that’s something along the lines of ‘really?’

                “You must at least have the faintest of clues traipsing about your noggin,” Jake presses.

“Well, I’m good with robotics and technology. I could go far with making shit for the government or something,” you say. Jake’s face splits into a smile.

“That’s a real crackerjack idea, old chap! I imagine your talent with robotic contraptions and whatsits could take you far!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Thinking about what could have been your future stings a bit, but not as much as you expected it to. With death came the cruel, unchanging fact that your dreams won’t ever come true, and that cold truth grounded you four years ago as it does now.

A quick glance in Jake’s direction informs you that he is lost in thought as well, his emerald green eyes staring at but not seeing the picture in front of him. You take a moment to observe his profile: his square jaw with a faint spattering of stubble along it, his slightly crooked nose (“I broke it in a tussle with a sea lion off the coast of the Galapagos!” Jake educated you), his thick eyebrows, bronze skin, and his ever-messy head of hair.  

It hits you then that Jake is attractive. Not just in appearance, which is obvious, but the way he goes about like every day is a new adventure on the journey of life or some other shit that could be read on a Hallmark card. The thought fills you with a warm, fluttery feeling of affection that bubbles up from within.

You admire Jake’s genuine enthusiasm about—pretty much everything, now that you think about it. It’s a breath of fresh air to the jaded, cynical ghost that you are, and you consider yourself fortunate to be able to bask in the glow of Jake’s vivacious take on life. After all, there’s nothing death craves more than to feel well and truly alive.  

Jake snaps out of his thoughts, turning his face to look at yours again.

“Are you up for enjoying the ever loving stuffing out of some cinematic gems, Dirk?” Jake’s eyes, the color of moss, light up, and there is no possible way that you can say no to those eyes. Ever.

“What did you have in mind?” You hazard a guess, trying to put off your inevitable caving to Jake’s every whim.

“ _Avatar,_ of course!” Without waiting for a response, Jake clunks down the stairs, racing off to your old room. You leisurely follow, taking your time down the stairs and through the house, walking the distance instead of transporting yourself via ghosty powers. _It’s best not to raise suspicions_ , you think to yourself, _although I could probably play it off as flashstepping._

Stepping inside what was your room, you see Jake putting the DVD in the player just below the oversized television. Jake and his grandma had furnished this room a few days ago, which had given you enough time to stash your sword and picture in the attic they had yet to explore. The sword could be easily explained as just something someone had forgotten over the years, but the picture of you and your brothers inside the house would be less easy to play off as coincidental.

In any case, your room was now a living room of sorts, the aforementioned TV sitting under the commonly shuttered window, a bookshelf squeezed into the corner of the room (mostly filled with anthologies detailing exotic locales and a Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook, which, by its dirty exterior and fraying edges, had actually proved useful to either Jake or Grandma Harley). The closet, now repurposed, houses the majority of Jake’s massive movie collection: shelf upon shelf of every kind of movie can be found within the small confines of your closet. Jake’s favorites, however, reside next to the DVD player. For easier access, you assume. Jake’s favorites tended to change frequently, however. A plush, dark green couch sits opposite the TV, its supple, leather seats broken in to the point where one could easily find oneself trapped in its comfortable confines for hours on end. Between the TV and the couch is a coffee table, simple in its design, with several water rings on its surface devolving into a sort of accidental pattern on the smooth, wooden surface.

You slide onto the couch, curling your left leg up against your chest while your right foot lays flat on the floor. Remote in hand, Jake settles on the couch next to you, his eagerness multiplying as the title screen appears and he hits play.

As the movie plays, you side-eye Jake from behind your shades, not that he probably would’ve noticed if you stood up and ripped off your pants at this moment, as Neytiri makes her debut on the screen. You’ve seen his posters of her in his room, and he’s told you of his professed love of ‘cerulean beauties’ as he calls them, but seeing him fawn over the weird blue cat alien onscreen is a whole new level of Jake English. He sighs, resting his face in the palm of his hand as his elbow thunks down on the arm of the couch. A dreamy smile spreads lazily across Jake’s face as he speaks.

“Gosh, Dirk, isn’t Neytiri just the most beautiful of dames? I’d love to make that smokin’ cerulean space babe my paramour.” Jake’s eyes are glued to the screen as Neytiri talks to the Jake in the movie, and you smirk at him despite the slight twinge of jealously you feel for said cerulean space babe. You shake off the feeling though when it hits you that she is, in fact, a fictional character.

As soon as Neytiri is no longer onscreen, Jake pauses the movie and asks, “Would you like something to eat, old chum? I’m feeling a bit peckish myself.” You nod in agreement despite the lack of hunger on your end, and follow Jake into the kitchen. _Alert Hollywood,_ you think sardonically to yourself, _I’ve found the secret to dieting success: death._

Jake shuffles around in the pantry, emerging a moment later with a large bag of tortilla chips. You guess his next course of action by going to the fridge and grabbing the salsa and two cans of coke. You would’ve preferred orange soda, but you no longer lived here, technically speaking, which means you don’t get to add things to the grocery list. Jake expresses his thanks, and you smile in return, leading the way back to ~~your room~~ the living room.

You set the salsa on the coffee table next to the bag of chips that Jake rips open and sets down, reaching for the remote to hit the play button once more.

Jake continues to watch the movie religiously, looking down occasionally to scoop some salsa onto a tortilla chip before transfixing his eyes back on the TV. Whenever Neytiri says Jake’s name in the movie, Jake gets the goofiest looking smile, and you have to tell yourself that painting your skin blue wouldn’t work in seducing Jake English. You think.

 A hint of movement catches the corner of your eye and you turn your head to look over the back of the couch and to the doorway, tensing when you see something you didn’t think you ever would: another ghost.

 

\--

 

                 Standing in the doorway is a girl with blonde hair and pink eyes, a playful smile quirking at her black-tinted lips. The girl is vaguely familiar. You’re almost sure that you’ve seen her in the neighborhood before, but never anywhere else. Now you know why. She’s slim and fairly tall, appearing to be around yours and Jake’s age. Her outfit includes an overly long purple scarf, white shirt with a pink cat decal, hot pink skirt with black leggings underneath and a pair of light pink high tops to complete the ensemble. You don’t really know _how_ you know she’s a ghost, but no signs point to the contrary, and neither Jake nor you heard anyone enter the house. You decide to test the theory anyway, tapping Jake’s shoulder lightly to get his attention.

                “Jake, is she a friend of yours?” You ask, pointing to the girl now leaning on the door jamb, a hand placed on her cocked hip as she continues to smile. Jake blinks at you before following your gaze to look at the empty doorway, confusion bleeding through his features.

                “Sorry chum, but there doesn’t seem to be any ladyfriend to gander! Say, is this some sort practical japery you are trying to employ? I must say it isn’t one of your better ones, not that I’ve seen many of your attempts at fooling a fella.”

                “Hm. Yeah, just a joke. Shit, can’t you see my prankster’s gambit filling up? I like to stick with the classic ‘made you look’ gags,” you bullshit, eyes flicking over to the ghost girl. She blows you a kiss and winks. Jake chortles.

                “Ha! While one must respect those tried and true classics, I would think you of all people would be willing to branch out and try some new tactics.” He turns back to the movie, rewinding it to the point where you had pulled his attention away and snapping his can of coke open. The ghost girl is still there, however, your curiosity demanding that you find out just who she is and how she came to be here. You make a decision.

                “Hey Jake, I gotta run. I just remembered Bro needed my help this afternoon.” The story sounds plausible enough, and Jake buys it, pausing the movie as he stands, preparing to walk you out. As you head for the front door, you make eye contact with the girl through your shades, pointing up as a sign to meet you upstairs. She gets it, vanishing from the doorway and presumably heading to the second floor while you and Jake walk to the front door.

                You say farewell to Jake, and he waves you off, making you promise to stop by again soon before he closes the door. You immediately transport to the second floor, stepping into Jake’s room when you hear someone shuffling through his belongings.

                “How did you get here?” you ask the girl directly, poker face in place. Her head snaps up when she hears your voice and she puts down the comic book she had been flipping through, turning to face you.

                “Nice to meet you too,” she greets, winking at you again. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

                “I’ve been dead for four years now. Isn’t this welcome a little late?” Your reply is sharp, your frustration at this belated introduction to death dripping through. She waves a dismissive hand at you.

                “Then you should know by now that time has no real meaning anymore! Jeez. I’m Roxy Lalonde, dead nineteen years. I like wizards, science, and cats. What’s your name?”

                “Dirk Strider,” you answer. “Are you supposed to be my guide to the afterlife?”

                “Nah, not really. I heard the people in my house talking about some kid that died in this house and I decided to meet you! So I took a few years to get over here, whatevz. I didn’t think it’d be the cutie I would whistle at occasionally from my window. Lucky me!” She runs her eyes up and down your body in a quick appreciation of your appearance. So you had seen each other before.  You remember glancing in her direction when you would hear the wolf whistle, aimed at either you or Dave walking home from the bus stop.

                “Wait. You can leave your house?” You feel hope welling up in your chest. This couldn’t be possible, but here she stands, obviously not confined to her house.

                “Well, duh! I’m here now, aren’t I Dirky?” She smiles, not unkindly as she continues. “I guess you really don’t know anything, huh? You’re allowed to leave your house or wherever you died on the day that you died for a whole twenty-four hours. When that’s over, you’re sucked back to your respective death spot. Same goes for whatever holiday you observe that deals with celebrating the dead. Like Halloween or Dia De Los Muertos.” Roxy sits down on Jake’s bed, looking around at the various posters on his walls.

                You can hardly believe it. An actual, real, _genuine_ way to leave this fucking house. It’s enough to make you giddy.

                “Are those the only exceptions?” you ask, eager for any information she could provide.

                “Well, I’ve also heard that you can leave your death spot whenever you want if you have an object from when you were alive that holds enough meaning to you or somethin’. As long as someone who’s still alive carries it around with them, you aren’t bound to your death spot! Pretty fly, huh? I wonder if it’s for real.”

                Your mind immediately goes to your katana and your picture, wondering if you could figure out some way to get Jake to carry around one of the items and test the outcome. You come to the sudden realization that you’re being rude.

                “So today is the day that you died?” you question tentatively, unsure if Roxy wants to talk about it. She lets out a puff of air, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

                “Yep.”

                “That sucks,” you tell her sincerely, feeling honestly sympathetic for her predicament. It’s not hard since it’s so similar to yours. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Roxy seems to think about it, mulling the thought over before coming to a decision.

                “Nah, I’m aight. ‘Sides, I don’t wanna show you all my cards when we’ve just met, Dirky-poo.” She sticks her tongue out in an affectionate manner, and you respond with a smile. Roxy gasps dramatically when she sees it.

                “Was that an actual facial expression? Oh my god! You’re not a roboghost!” Her outburst causes you to smile wider for some reason. She reminds you a little of Dave in some ways. The thought is sobering.

                “Sooo, you’re getting cozy with your new family huh?” Roxy rolls over, lying on her stomach and propping her chin in her hands in a pose you suspect all teenagers have lounged in at one point or another.  Her legs kick haphazardly at the knee. “He is pretty hot.”

                “It’s not like that,” you’re quick to defend. “Jake’s just a…friend.” You’re actually not sure what Jake considers you, but friend seems to be the closest approximation of your current relationship. Okay, so maybe acquaintance would be more fitting. Whatever.

                “As if! You liiiiiike him!” Roxy singsongs, a devilish smirk spreading across her face. You don’t deny it, your face heating up as you blush, a faint dusting of pink crossing your cheeks.  “Aww, you are so _CUTE_ when you blush!” Roxy squeals, her legs flailing wildly.

                The pair of you are momentarily distracted when Jake steps into his room, going through your invisible ghost form. Both you and Jake end up shuddering—it’s always uncomfortable when someone steps through you—and you try to shake off the pins and needles feeling. Jake powers through the sensation as well, stepping over to his dresser and pulling out a clean set of clothes. You notice the dark stain on the front of his shirt then—he must have spilled some soda on his shirt and oh my god he’s taking it off.

Roxy, now sitting cross-legged on the bed, lets out a squeak, her hands clapping over her mouth instinctually as she stares openly at Jake’s chest. You can’t help but to stare as well, taking note of his muscular torso and somehow endearing tan lines. As a ghost, a number of people have suddenly barged in on you and started stripping, which, you concede, is perfectly normal for them, as they have no idea of your presence. But it always is a bit of a shock, and it doesn’t stop you from feeling like a bit of a creeper.

Your face feels ten times hotter than it did when you were just talking to Roxy as you take in every detail of Jake’s chest, and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his clean shirt covers the broad expanse of skin.

                Jake picks up his discarded shirt and leaves his room. You step out of the way before he can walk through you again, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you hear the bathroom sink running as Jake tries to rinse out the stain. The shower starts to run a few minutes later, and you immediately look over at Roxy who explodes in a fit of giggles, one hand held against her mouth and the other pointing at you.

                “The look on your _face_!” She manages to say between bouts of laughter. You advance to the bed, picking up Jake’s pillow and tossing it at her face. Your face is still warm and you will the blush away, reestablishing the patented Strider poker face. The blush still burning on your face makes it less effective, but her laughter finally dies down to the occasional bark as she clutches at Jake’s pillow.

                “You’re so lucky that he moved here! Why doesn’t a hot, clumsy guy live at my house? That would be the bomb,” Roxy concludes, smiling at you once again. You like it when she smiles.

You move to sit next to her on the bed, and she scoots over to give you room. The pair of you sit in a companionable silence, and it hits you: Roxy gets it. Gets you. And you, in turn, get her. You can see the loneliness in your eyes reflected in her own, can imagine the countless number of times she’s cried and dreamed of moving on, wishing for an end to the ceaseless monotony that comes with being a ghost. Death is hard on everyone involved, with ghosts as the unsung heroes who have to deal with the grief of losing everyone and everything alone.  

Your mind turns back to getting out of the house, with a focus on the untested process. Having nearly full mobility again would be great—you bet Roxy would love to get out of her house more often than is currently possible as much as you would. You hope Roxy has something that can pass for the vague concept of ‘enough meaning’.

                “About the third method of ghostly maneuverability: do you have anything that could qualify as something with enough meaning?” you ask Roxy. You’re beginning to wonder if all things dealing with ghosts are obtuse, cloudy ideals. It does go hand in hand with being stuck in limbo. You continue.

                “I have two things that might work for it. I figure we can get Jake to pocket them if they’re small enough, and we can go wherever he goes. He doesn’t even have to know.”  

                Roxy slips a necklace you hadn’t noticed she’d been wearing earlier from around her neck, her fingers clasping around the pendant. She holds her hand flat so you can see what it is: a tiny glass bottle filled with a miniscule scroll. There appears to be writing on it, the ink bleeding through the thin paper. Roxy looks incredibly vulnerable in this moment, however, so you don’t press her for details. Instead, you awkwardly place an arm around her shoulders in something of a half-hug, hoping that it translates more supportive than awkward. She melts a little into the embrace, and you grip her a little tighter for a moment before letting her go. 

                You gesture for her to follow you. She’s shown you her most precious possession; it’s only fair that you do the same. You lead her up to the attic, pulling out your katana and photograph from their hiding spots, handing them to the cotton candy-eyed girl. She grips your sword in her right hand, and in the other she holds the picture.

                “These are my brothers. Bro,” you point to your older brother, “And Dave.” Your hand moves to the other side of the picture. You feel tense and vulnerable, sharing this special thing, but mutual trust is a requirement of any friendship.

                “I remember seeing them occasionally. Dave more than Bro. They’re hot like you, too,” Roxy winks and the tension trickles out of your frame. You crack a smile and she returns it, handing your sword and photo back.

                You put them back in your hiding spot when you hear the shower shutting off. You turn to Roxy.

                “So, are you ready to test this shit or what?”

 

\--

 

                You and Roxy stand in the far corner of Jake’s room, waiting for him to reenter fresh and clean from the shower and to notice the note you left underneath Roxy’s necklace. Jake doesn’t disappoint; he walks into the room, toweling his hair when he notices the piece of paper and the tiny bottle necklace. Slinging the towel around his neck, Jake picks up the pendant and the note, his eyes scanning the paper as he reads what is written on it.

_Hey Jake,  
You need to wear this necklace at all times. It belongs to a beautiful young woman who needs someone to wear a token of hers or she will never be able to leave her home. It won’t harm you at all; in fact, it will keep you safer than you have ever been before. Think of it as a good luck charm that has been blessed and purified by a thousand Neytiris and now all you need to do is wear it. Forever. _

_Just trust me, bro._

_Dirk_

                Jake finishes reading the note and drops it hastily, yanking the jewelry over his head. He tucks it under his shirt, and you’re thankful that Jake has such a flair for the plot lines one sees on the silver screen because otherwise this probably wouldn’t have worked.

                “For you, unknown beauty, I shall wear this! I’m sure you’re a real standup gal, and I’d be the most dastardly douchemuffin in existence if I stood in the way of your freedom!” Jake announces to his room. Roxy chuckles at his speech and you smirk. Jake settles into bed at this point, picking up one of the many comic books strewn about and starting to read. You and Roxy exit Jake’s room, leaving him to his reading.

                “If all goes according to plan, Jake will never take off your necklace and you can stay here instead of at your house,” you summarize. You hope this works.

                “Yeah, I guess now we’ll just have to pass the time until my twenty-four hours is up to see if this isn’t a load of bull.” Roxy sounds casual, but you see the anxious flicker in her eyes. An idea pops into your mind as you lead her to your old room, picking through the shelves of DVDs until you find what you’re looking for. You smile a small smile, trying to be reassuring.

                “You like wizards, right? Have you ever heard of _Harry Potter_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't realize how much I absolutely and most definitely need '90s ghost Roxy until she showed up. Also let's pretend that I know how to write Jake.  
> Shameless self promotion: shocktastic.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here's the start of a kind of sad and kind of cute fic about a ghost who falls in love with a derpy kid who talks funny. Maybe I'll get better at writing dialogue between more than two people one day. Ah well, hope you enjoy it!


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